


Wrecked

by QueenNoPlot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Floor Sex, Gangbang, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Threesome - M/M/M, Valve Fingering (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24963547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenNoPlot/pseuds/QueenNoPlot
Summary: The Wreckers pay handsomely for services only a medic can offer.
Relationships: First Aid/Broadside, First Aid/Impactor (Transformers), First Aid/Impactor/Roadbuster, First Aid/Roadbuster (Transformers)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 95





	Wrecked

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for Anonymous, who asked for First Aid/Wreckers!

First Aid had long grown tired of his position in Iacon. There was nothing wrong with the job itself – he loved being a medic, and the pay was enough for him to live comfortably in a private unit. But over so many vorns, his routine had gradually become bland, boring. New patients all the time, but always the same things, from corrupted coding to viruses to entirely severed limbs, all usually from doing something stupid. The most excitement he’d had at his clinic this week was when Ironhide had dropped by sporting so much damage the medic thought he’d been in a serious fight.

Turned out it was just Chromia in heat.

Which got him thinking about his own private life. It was even blander than his long solar cycles at work, practically nonexistent. He certainly had no love life, merely a one-night stand here and there. Sure, it was fun to find a beautiful mech or femme his age, share some high grade at a bar, and demonstrate his expert knowledge on the Cybertronian frame to make interfacing more pleasurable. But it wasn’t satisfying for more than a couple of solar cycles. Somehow, he had managed to ruin fragging for himself, too. It felt boring as well, especially when the mechanoid he’s with refuses to spice things up and just wants to overload as quickly as possible.

He needed something different for once. A new frame type, a kink,  _something_. First Aid decided he needed more than a one time offer. Not necessarily a conjunx. Maybe not even a lover, per se, but someone he could come back to on a regular basis.

The medic was soon scrolling through job offers, in the section with the age lock on each one. After about a breem of skimming through offers begging for shareware, he sat upright in his berth. The Wreckers – three of them, at least – were looking to hire a medic for the position of “Team Morale Booster.”

He tapped on that posting immediately.

He read down the list of expectations and requirements. “Standard. Energetic. Must enjoy using both interface components. Must be willing to travel. Must be comfortable interfacing with multiple mechs at once. Flexible schedule preferred.” And so on. At “Expect spontaneous interface sessions,” First Aid tapped the “Apply” button.

He laid back in his berth, set the datapad down next to him, and waited. In less than a breem, the screen lit up with a message:

_ Your application has been accepted _ .

* * *

First Aid sat patiently in the lobby. He spent his time looking around at the tall ceiling, the rare crystals on display, and the gold and silver chrome detailing of the room, the seats, and the front desk. The hotel was five-stars, of course, so it made sense. The staff and customers were larger frame types than what he was used to being around. A few were even warframes.

It was odd to him that this long after the war, there would still be so many mechanoids choosing to keep their warframe builds. Optimus remained a warframe, for reasons he would not discuss but that First Aid could infer. But he didn’t travel to one of Cybertron’s wealthiest regions to think about Optimus.

Only half a joor passed before he was approached by a large purple and yellow mech. He looked up in acknowledgement and a shiver crawled down his spinal strut when the mech smiled down at him.

“You must be First Aid,” came his voice, smoother than he had expected from a Wrecker.

“Uh, yes,” the medic nodded, standing up and offering his hand. “That’s me.”

The big mech’s hand encased his almost entirely as he accepted it.

“I’m Impactor,” he said. “I apologize for making you wait. I wanted to see if you would let your nerves get the best of you.”

First Aid tried his own smile. “What nerves?”

“HAH!”

The sheer volume of his sudden laughter made the smaller ‘Bot’s plating flare in surprise. The only nerves he felt, though, were the ones that told him there was too much attention on them now.

“Should we, uh...” he started as he took his hand back.

“Oh, yes, of course. This way.” Impactor led him into the elevator. “You know, most mechs change their processors when they see me.”

“Why’s that?”

“They underestimate my size. Most don’t want to interface with larger frame types as much as they think they do.”

“I see.”

The doors opened and First Aid followed him down to the end of the hall.

“Here we are,” Impactor said as he scanned the door key.

They entered and he set the key on the entryway table. First Aid’s optics widened as he observed the main room. Even fancier than the lobby.

“Better rooms,” the Wrecker began as he closed the door and smirked, “better places to frag.”

As if to test the theory, First Aid made a totally not obvious beeline for the berthroom, noting the sound of running water as he passed the washrack. Upon locating the berth, he sat on it. It was softer and more comfortable than he was used to. One might have even said it was “luxurious.” Certainly, this room alone cost more than his entire unit.

“How do you afford this unit?” He asked when Impactor appeared in the doorway.

“Oh. Well, you gain enough fame and the shanix just starts rolling in by itself, to put it simply.” He walked in and stood at the end of the berth. “So, do you feel comfortable here? Safe?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good. How about you take a trip to the washrack?”

The red and white mech nodded, then stood and made his way back to the hallway where the washrack was.

With a deep vent, he slid the door open and stepped inside. The other two Wreckers were inside, chatting about something as one, gray and red, stood under the flow of water while the other, orange and green, leaned against the wall. At First Aid’s entrance, their discussion trailed off and their optics tracked up and down his frame.

“Is this our new medic?” The mech in the middle of scrubbing off solvent asked.

“Ah, First Aid,” the one leaning against the wall purred. “Care to join Broadside? He doesn’t bite.”

“Don’t listen to Roadbuster,” Broadside smirked, revealing the sharp tip of a large fang. “Of course I bite.”

First Aid opened his mouth, but his vocalizer promptly shorted itself when he caught sight of a particularly large shaft hanging between the Wrecker’s thighs. Upon realizing why he was rebooting his vocalizer, Broadside slid his hand along the underside of his spike and gave it a few tantalizing strokes.

“See something you like, medic?”

“Uh, I–“ First Aid stammered. Broadside’s spike got even bigger as it hardened. “I need to wash...”

“Come here, then,” the Wrecker purred lowly, stepping back from the spray of water. “Don’t be shy. I’ll help.”

Struggling to keep himself from staring at that impressive length of Wrecker spike, the medic closed the door behind him and moved forward. He was pleased to find the water was warm as he stepped into the stream. Immediately Broadside’s hand was on his back, rubbing solvent into the seams of his armor. He blushed as that hand moved down to the small of his back and the other started rubbing down his pelvic plating.

“Stop means stop, okay?” His voice was right behind the medic’s audio.

First Aid nodded, a whimper escaping him as the hand on his back slid down between his thighs and groped at his interface panel. He shifted to spread his legs a little and was rewarded with large fingers rubbing solvent into the seams of his panel.

“Come on, little medic,” Broadside said, mouth brushing the white and red mech’s neck. “Your panel’s hot. How about you open it for me?”

With a shaky vent, First Aid allowed his panel to slide away, releasing his half-hard spike and revealing his slightly leaking valve. Immediately the hand between his thighs rubbed his valve, then one finger very gently prodded at his entrance. He braced himself with his hands on the washrack wall in front of him, and failed to hold back a keen of pleasure as that large finger sank into him. The constant rush of the warm water on his back made his frame feel even hotter. When he made no complaint, Broadside pushed in a second finger and began to slowly thrust his digits in and out of the medic’s valve, which was now leaking a steady stream of lubricant.

“You’re so wet,” Broadside groaned. “I can’t wait to feel this tight valve of yours around my spike.”

First Aid could only whimper at the thought of that spike stretching him out. He took a third finger and some more thorough preparation before Broadside pulled his hand away – only for the fingers to return coated in solvent. He gasped and moaned as the cleansing solution was rubbed on and into his valve.

“You said you needed a wash.” He could  _feel_ the Wrecker grinning. “We’re going to get you nice and clean, inside and out.”

Oh, yes. Roadbuster was still there, waiting so patiently for his turn with the small mech. A glance over revealed that he had slid down to sit against the wall, let his spike out, and was slowly stroking it. In the next klick, his attention was pulled entirely back to Broadside, who had lined up his spike and begun to press into his valve. The mix of lubricant and solvent worked wonders for a smooth, clean slide of his spike into First Aid’s valve.

“Aahh! Nngh–!” The medic’s vocalizer cut out with a burst of static as his valve worked to accommodate the thick shaft.

Broadside placed his hands on the small mech’s hips and groaned as he rocked his own back and forth.

“So fragging  _tight_ ,” he vented.

First Aid rebooted his vocalizer and, when it was ready, let out a long moan. He reached one hand back to grab at the big mech’s pelvic armor, trying to encourage him to move more.

“Oh, you like that, little medic?”

He opened his mouth to beg, but he was cut off by a harsh thrust and the mech grazing his teeth over his neck.

“Yes!” He cried. “Ooh...! Please... Faster...!”

Broadside took the medic’s fuel line between his fangs and obliged him without a second thought. First Aid’s fingers clawed at the wall. Just as he was about to ask for more, Broadside’s frame shuddered and his valve received a boost of charge, followed a split klick later by the ejection of a hot load of transfluid that spilled out of his valve immediately. The Wrecker groaned as he came down from his overload, then gently pulled his lax spike from the medic’s soaked valve. He slid his fingers back into him, taking First Aid by surprise when he proceeded to thrust those fingers hard and fast. The red and white mech mewled and panted as he was thoroughly fingerfragged, then let out a long, sweet keen when he hit his own climax, legs trembling as he fought to not squeeze them together in pleasure.

Lubricant splattered onto the floor. Faceplates burning, First Aid looked to the side and saw both Roadbuster and Impactor watching him. Their gazes were intense, and Roadbuster stood up to approach him next. Broadside backed away so the orange and green mech could take his place.

“I believe I also require medical attention,” Roadbuster purred.

The Wreckers  definitely had a medic fetish. First Aid turned to face him and whimpered at the sight of the spike presented before him, even thicker and longer than Broadside’s. It was at the perfect height for him to easily take it in his hand. He stroked it slowly, mapping out every segment, ridge, and biolight. Once he was confident he could handle the impressive equipment, he looked up at the mech with a little smirk.

“Where does it hurt?” He asked, slowly dragging his finger up the underside of the spike.

He wasn’t surprised at all when the mech’s hips rocked and his fans clicked to a higher speed. “Right...right there...”

“Hmm...” First Aid ran that finger back down the underside, paying close attention to which plates had Roadbuster venting. “Sensitive. I need to examine closer.”

Wrapping his fingers around it again, he gently pulled the big spike up, then leaned forward and dragged his glossa straight up the middle, ignoring the bitter taste of the water and solvent still spraying down on them.

“Ooh, frag...!” Roadbuster put one hand on the washrack wall and the other on the medic’s helm.

He pulled his mouth away just before reaching the tip and rubbed his thumb across the slit. “How did that feel?”

The Wrecker groaned, faceplates glowing blue under his optics. “Good... Please, do it again...”

First Aid leans forward again, but nearly jumps out of his metal when he feels hands on his thighs. A quick look reveals Impactor settling in behind him. He looks at the medic with a smirk.

“You don’t mind me joining in, do you?”

“Uh,” First Aid cleared his vocalizer, “not at all.”

“Carry on, then.”

With that, Impactor trailed one hand down between his legs and gently rubbed his valve. Blushing, the red and white mech put his mouth back on Roadbuster’s spike. Instead of moving away when he reached the broad tip, he took it into his mouth.

“Ah!” Roadbuster leaned his helm back, fingers curling on the wall. “Yes...!”

Impactor thrust a couple fingers into First Aid’s valve, getting a gush of lubricant and transfluid mixture as well as a moan. Roadbuster groaned at the vibrations around his spike and First Aid pushed to take the first segment of it. He had to pull off when Impactor jammed his fingers into his most sensitive node, lest he choked on the massive spike in his mouth.

“Frag, yes,” he moaned, then cried out when his node was hit again. “Right there...!”

Impactor stopped with his fingers pressed right against that node, grinning as First Aid squirmed and whimpered in his efforts to make friction.

“Get his spike back in your mouth, medic,” the Wrecker behind him purred. “And keep it there.”

The small mech did as he was told. He had to admit to himself that he kind of enjoyed being ordered around. Receiving those orders from mechs so much bigger than him made it even better, and he eagerly took in Roadbuster’s twitching shaft again. With a little work, he got down to the second segment of plating, and of course Impactor decided then was the moment to attack.

He pumped his fingers into that soaked valve and reached his other hand around pelvic plating to stroke the medic’s neglected spike. First Aid groaned, lighting up the sensors on Roadbuster’s spike, and continued to press forward. He whimpered when Impactor’s hands left his array, but stilled at a familiar nudge against his valve. Impactor rocked back and forth, rubbing his spike between the medic’s valve folds. Once it was lubricated to his satisfaction, he gripped his shaft with one hand and First Aid’s aft with the other. He spread his own legs to angle his hips just so and he pushed forward.

At first, the red and white mech just moaned around the spike in his mouth. Then the size of Impactor’s spike started to be too much and he found himself being forced to take in more of Roadbuster than he was ready for. His intake resisted, as did his valve, and scoring Roadbuster’s pelvic plating did nothing to grab the elated mech’s attention.

First Aid sounded his siren and flashed all of his biolights red.

Suddenly, both his valve and mouth were empty, and both mechs pulled him up from his bent-forward position.

“Are you okay?” Impactor asked as he checked his frame over. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” he replies after a quick vocalizer reboot. “Just too much, too fast.”

“Oh, I must have gotten ahead of myself. How about we try something a little different?”

Impactor reached back, turned off the water, and pointed at the floor between Roadbuster’s peds.

“Sit,” he ordered, then continued when the other Wrecker obeyed, “Get down on your hands and knee struts and service his valve.”

Roadbuster pulled his legs in and spread them as First Aid got down between them. The medic spread his own legs and leaned down on his servos, putting his hands on the insides of the thighs before him. He nuzzled into Roadbuster’s array, laving his glossa over his valve before pushing it inside. The big mech shuddered and moaned and First Aid made sure his olfactory housing rubbed his anterior node. He was rewarded with a gush of lubricant and Impactor settling on his own knee struts behind him.

“I’ll go slow,” the Wrecker behind him assured him.

First Aid felt hands on his back, smoothing down to his aft and then holding him by his pelvic armor. His fans kicked back up again when Impactor began to press his spike back into his valve, this time much slower. With a little bit of work, the medic’s valve adjusted to accommodate the Wrecker’s girth, and hips met aft.

“How’s that feel?” Impactor asked, leaning over the smaller frame to nuzzle the medic’s helm.

“Mmh...” First Aid pulled off the array before him, much to Roadbuster’s chagrin. “ _Good_ .”

“Yeah, you like a snug fit, don’t you, medic?”

The red and white mech just moaned and resumed eating out the heavily venting Wrecker in front of him, who was starting to stroke his own spike.

“I saw how Broadside took you,” Impactor purred as he slowly pulled back, then emphasized his last word with a harsh shove forward. “You like it  _rough_.”

First Aid yelped and moaned, delivering pleasant vibrations to the valve he was servicing. He redoubled his efforts on that valve, bringing in one hand to play with the mech’s node, and Impactor set a steady pace. It wasn’t as hard or fast as he would have liked, but he was pleased to learn that Impactor’s thrusts got exponentially more brutal as he built charge.

This time, First Aid overloaded first, crying out into Roadbuster’s array as Impactor continued to pound his own constricting valve. Roadbuster bucked and groaned, hand working his spike as he climaxed through both his parts. The mech moved back on his aft to give First Aid more room, and the medic braced himself with his servos in front of him. Impactor was still railing him like no one ever had, and when he leaned down over the smaller mech to put his hands on his, First Aid hit a second overload. This one managed to finally push Impactor over the edge. Hands gripping the medic’s, he surged forward, ground as deep as he could into that rippling valve, and came hard.

“Uhh...!” First Aid gasped at the copious amount of transfluid that overflowed out of his valve. “Primus...”

When Impactor’s weight remained for a few moments, he almost thought his overload had knocked him offline, but he could feel the Wrecker’s fingers petting his. A moment later, Impactor slowly moved back, gently pulling his depressurizing spike from First Aid’s dripping valve. The medic vented into the floor, a shiver of leftover charge going up his spinal strut at the sensation of so much fluid running down his legs.

First Aid was startled by warm water spraying onto his back. Impactor had turned the washrack back on and was now pulling him to his peds.

“You alright?” The purple and yellow mech asked.

First Aid nodded and leaned forward, against Impactor’s chassis. The bigger mech held him up with a servo around him and used the other to grab the solvent dispenser, giving some to Roadbuster and Broadside as they approached. Roadbuster stayed behind First Aid and rubbed the solvent onto his back, while Broadside kneeled down and attended to the medic’s legs. Impactor was reserved the honor of cleaning up the smaller mech’s chassis and array.

First Aid just leaned into Impactor and let the Wreckers take care of him. He was already looking forward to the next time they did this.


End file.
